


I am Foot-locked

by TooManyChoices



Series: Working out the kinks [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2087319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another variation on the stag-night and where it might have gone if the boys had the courage to do so. John's admired Sherlock's long feet for so long....so very long. Unashamed foot-smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I am Foot-locked

_This was it, the last night. Sherlock and John...Holmes and Watson_. For all John kept telling himself things wouldn't change, he knew they would. In less than a week, he'd be married and in due course...he'd be gone.

But just for now...just for tonight, John's stag night...he was here. Too much alcohol _More than I intended_ had made them both loose limbed and equally loose-lipped. Boundaries were being crossed, and things were being said that neither of them had any right to voice...Not anymore.

 _And yet....If not now...then when?_ Every tick of the mantle clock felt like a knocking on John's skull, reminding him that these were special hours. Sacred, middle of the night, precious hours that were somehow apart from reality. A fairyland where, just this once, perhaps there was a chance.

His stocking-feet rested idly against the edge of Sherlock’s black chair and as he watched, Sherlock mimicked the position, bending his longer legs so his feet rested alongside John's thigh. He could just feel the chill of Sherlock's arch radiate through his jeans and into the skin next to it.

John looked down fondly at Sherlock's enormous feet. He regularly derided his friend for their size, but in truth he was a little in awe of them. Just slightly out of scale with the tall detective, his hands and their long fingers seemed tailored to hold a violin bow as much as a magnifying glass. The feet were similarly disproportionate, but of much less practical use unless Sherlock intended to take up cross-channel swimming.

John gently lifted the closest foot in its black sock, and balanced it on his thigh, hands cradling the heel. "OK?" he asked, looking up at the man opposite.

"If you like." Came the response with an effusive wave. Sobriety would be long in re-establishing itself, but neither man was drunk enough not to feel the frisson of risk in the room. The under-current of danger was almost as intoxicating to them both as the scotch.

Although the comment had been offhand, Sherlock's foot balanced on John's leg and his head tipped to one side with an odd intensity, as if waiting to see what John planned to do next.

John meanwhile was wondering exactly that. Now that he finally had one of Sherlock's large feet between his palms, something he'd secretly fantasised about for some time, the next step eluded him.

The long agile toes curled and then relaxed, gripping and then releasing the smallest amount of denim. John's eyes flicked up to meet Sherlock's and was greeted with the smallest of nods and a tightness in the mouth that John recognised as controlled anticipation. He was more familiar with it appearing as Lestrade began to lay out facts on a new case and Sherlock was bristling with barely restrained energy to begin something new, something exciting. To see it now sent a prescient shiver down John's spine.

Gently, with feather-light touches, John brushed his thumbs down either side of the fabric covering Sherlock's foot, smoothing it over the skin on the top of his instep. Testing to see what Sherlock's response would be, John was delighted at the shiver and curl of the foot under his hand and the corresponding twitch in the other resting against his chair. He continued, teasing and stroking, laying gentle fingers around the heel, across the pads of the toes, under the arch. Sherlock's twitching and wriggling became more pronounced and as John glanced up he was surprised to see that his flat-mate's eyes had drifted closed, his mouth fallen open in a silent gasp of pleasure.

John moved the foot between hands, reversing his grip and kneading the sole with his thumbs, this time glancing up as his flat-mate groaned and his eyes snapped open silently begging for more. John hesitated a moment before decisively peeling off Sherlock's sock and dropping it by the side of his chair. The look of undisguised lust in Sherlock's eyes dispelled any lingering doubts John had about what they were doing. He was too far gone to care about ramifications come dawn, he wanted this one night, and to hell with the consequences be they good or ill.

"What?....." John choked on the word, his throat unexpectedly dry and he blushed and tried again, "I want....". Frustrated with himself and his ability to articulate his needs, he simply placed the foot back on his thigh and looked, silently begging Sherlock to take the lead and step into the role they were both so comfortable with him playing.

For long moments, or maybe just a heartbeat they stared at each other, before Sherlock's eyes dipped to John's crotch, fabric pulled taught across the blatant evidence of John's increasing desire. Slowly, gently, Sherlock raised his foot from John's leg and placed it over the straining zip, the long curve of his arch cradling the fabric covered length. John gave a strangled whine and arched his hips against the pressure.

Sherlock smiled, encouraged, and pushed a little more firmly as John bucked and then hissed at the unwanted pressure from the zip on sensitive skin. John's hand slipped downward and then stalled, knowing they were fast approaching yet another line and unsure if this one may be just a step too far.

John froze in mid-flight and caught Sherlock's sparkling eyes. The last of the alcoholic fog had dissipated and if there was a moment to turn back, both knew it had arrived.

"I don't mind." John bit out between clenched teeth.

"Anytime." came the hushed reply, black pupils shining within the ring of blue.

The sound of John's zip seemed impossibly loud, as was John's groan as the pressure was relieved. A glimpse of red appeared in the V of John's open jeans and Sherlock smiled at the playfulness of the vibrant underwear John had hidden behind unassuming daywear before returning his foot and stroking the soft cotton.

"Jesus, Sherlock...we shouldn't be doing this." John managed to mutter as he pushed against the agile toes.

"I think we should..." came the reply, deep and strained, "...I think we absolutely should."

"Yeah...you're right." John bucked again, a spot of pre-come darkening the red fabric, "...we should."

"You want this...."

"God..I do...." John's eyes fluttered closed, " _Christ_ Sherlock...Your fucking _feet."_

Sherlock's deep laugh rumbled in the still room, "Strictly, it's only one foot....I could add my other."

John laughed, a touch of disbelief tinging it, "No..." and added more huskily, "No..I think one is going to be...." his voice hitched, "more than enough."

"John..." his name whispered from the chair opposite, the beginning of a question..."will you remove your underwear?" Sherlock continued, a tense request, "I want to see you."

John, already flushed, felt colour rise further to his cheeks. What they were doing was already intimate, and the thought of exposing himself further was confronting and yet incredibly erotic. It was further evidence that Sherlock wanted this, needed this night to stretch and last. That he was gathering as much data from this single night as he could possibly store. Enough to last a lifetime.

"Yeah.." he huffed, "Yeah, OK...But..." _Dare he ask?_ "Both of us...I want to see you too."

Sherlock nodded but seemed unable to speak. Dilated pupils seemed to consume the last of the colour, the black matching Sherlock's fascinating hair. John realised in that moment that there was nothing about Sherlock that didn't entrance him and how utterly lost he was. He suspected, with dawning clarity, that he was walking into the fire. As he stood from the chair and lowered his jeans and pants to the floor, and watched his best friend do the same, he joyously welcomed the flames.

The two men stood opposite each other both finally able to look openly, and yet sharing a moment of awkwardness. This was all so new, so abrupt and yet wanted so very badly. Sherlock's fingers moved to efficiently deal with shirt buttons and John followed with his own and somehow that helped. Somehow, being totally naked together was less odd than standing in shirt tails, nude from the waist down. Sherlock drew in a deep breath, and with the feline grace that John envied, he slowly resumed his seat and pointedly placed his foot back on the edge of John's chair.

John settled back in his chair and ran a calming hand along Sherlock's shin, feeling the soft, dark hairs shift under his fingers. He felt the calf muscle flex and tense as the leg again lifted and gently, sensually settled back in his crotch, this time skin against silky skin.

John stifled a moan and he heard a gasp as Sherlock felt John's erection move under his foot, twitching in response to the contact.

John looked down at himself, barely concealed under the large foot. Each time Sherlock stroked downward, the head appeared briefly, toes bracketing and flexing against the tip. It was glorious; strange and glorious. John never imagined wanting anything as much as this simple act.

Sherlock's gaze never wavered. He was watching John with an almost obsessive focus. John loved being the centre of Sherlock's attention, to know that his brilliant mind was detailing and tallying his every movement. John felt lightheaded and giddy.

"Touch yourself Sherlock..." he murmured, "Show me what you like."

Sherlock didn't hesitate, spitting surreptitiously on his hand and lowering those incredibly long fingers to encircle his not insubstantial length _So...in proportion after all_ and gave two quick strokes to alleviate the immediate need. He groaned low and deep. It sent a shiver through John and he wriggled his hips against the temporarily still foot.

"Together, yeah?" John placed a hand over the bridge of Sherlock's foot, wanting to feel every movement and help guide the speed.

Sherlock nodded, "Mmmm, together. How we should do everything John."

John shuddered at the meaning of the words but put the thought aside as Sherlock began moving with purpose, his foot spreading the not insignificant pre-come along the length. As Sherlock moved through his own fist, John shifted under the sole of his foot, coordinated and synchronous.

John did little to adjust his stroke, pressing a little firmer, clasping a little tighter as he neared his peak. John's hands fisted at his sides, eyes locked on those in the other chair, willing Sherlock to keep pace, to join him at the summit and as rhythm faltered in both hand and his foot, John heard his name exhaled with the rapture of a benediction. "John.....Oh God... _John."_

The firm press and reflexive clench of toes triggered his own climax with Sherlock's name shouted to the night. He felt warmth spread between them as Sherlock's foot continued to flex and spasm through their shared pleasure until John was forced to lift the foot away from oversensitive skin.

He grabbed a discarded shirt from the floor and wiped Sherlock's foot and his own stomach clean before kneeling at Sherlock's chair and solicitously wiping him down. Sherlock took the shirt from him and wiped his hand before shakily running his fingers through John's short hair, stopping to cup his cheek. John turned his face and kissed the palm before leaning into the touch. Sherlock sighed and smoothed a thumb across his cheek.

John lowered his head to rest on Sherlock's bare thigh, the musky smell of sex strong in his lap. John asked the question that would ultimately decide their future, "What now?"

"Now..." Sherlock replied, his voice tired but sated and happy, "Now...you know you have the choice. Whatever you want.....I'm here."

"Then I want..." John chose his words with care, "I want...to come home."

In the dim light of pre-dawn, Sherlock's simple words hung in the air, "You are home."

 


End file.
